


'Til Death

by SadakoTetsuwan



Series: Kuroi Eri, Shiroi Eri [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Do it for him, Happy Ending, He gets better i promise, Hesitation, IT'S FINALLY HERE, M/M, Phone Calls & Telephones, Property Destruction, Reunions, Suicidal Thoughts, mission failed, work for your happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-01-15
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9336020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadakoTetsuwan/pseuds/SadakoTetsuwan
Summary: Coming to terms with the death of a spouse or partner is difficult. During these trying times, it is important to keep some things in mind:- Take care of yourself, and beware of habits that may be harmful to your health- Talk with family and friends about how you are feeling- Have something to do every day- Take your time, there is no deadline on mourning





	1. Chapter 1

It had been nearly four months, and Hanzo wasn’t hesitating as much anymore.

At first, his hesitations were understandable. He would hesitate when Genji or Hana would ask him to come to dinner, or when the phone rang, or when he simply had to answer the door. He hesitated when a mission suited to his skills came up, but with encouragement and support from Ana and Fareeha, he agreed to go. ‘Do it for Jesse’, Ana would say. It was hard, trying to go on…to settle back into his old routines.

It was so easy, however, to draw his bow. He hadn’t fired it in a few months, but after a few shaky pulls, he had found himself settling back into his old familiar form. The string felt like an old friend, and his aim was as true as it ever was.

“You’ve got it,” Hana had smiled, tallying up the number of arrows her Matrix had intercepted in the cargo bay.

“Yeah, we’re gonna do great, Samurai Jack,” Lucio grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and earning a small, sad smile from Hanzo. It was lucky he hadn’t often gone on missions with Jesse—otherwise, not seeing him in the cargo hold might have been too much for him.

As soon as the doors of the carrier opened, he hesitated—but only for a moment. It could easily be taken as simple courtesy, allowing Pharah to move ahead of him. Yes, that’s what it was, he told himself. He was fine. He could do this, with or without Jesse. Fight for Jesse.

He bolted forward as soon as the way was clear, scaling the crumbling ancient temple wall and scanning the field. Athena had intercepted chatter about Talon agents stealing artifacts from the ruins near Ilios, and selling them on the black market to fund their illicit activities—he could see movement at what looked to be a hastily opened archaeological site. He drew a sonic arrow and fired it in a high arc before crouching down, listening carefully in his earpiece.

“I am detecting at least 4 agents—automatic rifles,” he relayed, “…One more, very large, carrying crates. He is also armed, but it is difficult to tell what it is. Be wary.”

“Roger that,” Pharah called, her jets firing up and launching her atop a pillar.

“I am in position,” Ana murmured into her comm, “I have visual on the site. Be wary, two possible civilians on site.”

“I hear ya,” Lucio replied, “Let us know when to move in, Gramma.”

“Try not to damage any of the artifacts, if you can,” Winston said quickly, slightly nervous. Between Pharah, D.Va, Lucio and himself, he was almost certain that the site would be ruined no matter what.

“Yes, please be careful. Destruction of antiquities is just as unacceptable as allowing them to fall into the black market,” Athena cut in. “Though we are an illicit organization as well, we should hold ourselves to a higher standard than our enemies.”

“Agreed. Hanzo and I will drive them out of their current site, Lucio, coordinate the front line. Fareeha, you and Winston will divide their lines. Hana, protect high priority targets—try to hold your fire,” Ana instructed, sitting stock still on top of her perch. “Hanzo, you ought to move up. I’ll cover you. Once he’s repositioned, let’s move.”

“Understood,” Hanzo nodded, dropping down from his position and darting across broken tiles and paving stones.

“Alright, everybody grouped up? Let’s move it!” Lucio grinned, firing up his sonic amplifier. Hanzo grit his teeth and quickly turned down the sound over his commlink, the many echoes of the music far too distracting. It had always been loud, but it was far more distracting than usual.

He nocked a scatter arrow as he carefully followed the largest man in his sights, approaching another crate. Gritting his teeth, he loosed the arrow.

“Scatter,” he warned into the comm, Lucio and Winston ducking their heads slightly as they heard the arrow whistle overhead. Only a moment later, chaos erupted as the arrow fragmented and ricocheted, earning yells and a few bursts of startled gunfire. Winston’s jets fired and he leaped into the fray, wincing slightly as the ancient tiles cracked beneath his feet. He’d have to regret it later, however—too many bullets were flying.

“Contact left!” Pharah cried, bullets pinging off of her suit. She swung around and fired a concussive rocket, quickly dodging out of harm’s way, but it was too late. Several Talon agents, previously unnoticed on the roof, sprang into action, spraying bullets around the site.

“My Matrix is overloading!” D.Va warned, “Standby for a charge!”

“Don’t wreck yourself, D.Va!” Lucio shouted, hissing in recoil as he watched her gun the engines and blast her way into the thick of things, the tell-tale sound of her reactor core overloading thrumming off-key against his healing melody.

“I’ve only got so many barriers!” Winston advised, slamming one down in the sparse grass and yanking Lucio back by his suit’s harness. Hana landed with a roll and sprang back up inside the barrier as her MEKA self-destructed, the blast knocking several agents off the roof, but it was too little too late. They were still outnumbered, and on the back foot.

“We need to fall back,” Ana advised, the slight edge in her voice the closest she ever got to panic. The delicate glass of a biotic grenade shattered behind the advancing Talon agents, her rifle wheeling about to deal with others moving to flank. It was too much like training against Gabriel and his Blackwatch agents back in the day—on the other hand, that made it fairly easy for her to predict their movements.

But not everyone else.

“Gah! I’m hit!” Pharah cried, cutting her jets and plummeting out of the line of fire. Before she even hit the ground, she was hit again—a biotic round had lodged between the plates and facets of her armor. “Wow…Thanks, mom.”

“Keep your head in the game,” Ana instructed, “Bring up the rear on our retreat,” she added as D.Va’s new mech crashed heavily in front of her, its sudden appearance crushing an agent who had dared venture too close to the barrier. Ana backed away from the edge of her perch and took a quick tally of her troops—Fareeha, Hana, Winston, Lucio, herself…

Hanzo.

What was he doing?

“Hanzo! Report!” Silence. His biometric monitor was still transmitting—he wasn’t wounded, just silent. “Hanzo!”

She scanned the crumbling walls and rooftops and pillars as quickly as she could, searching for his form—

There— He was crouched behind cover, but not as if he were ducking from bullets. His back was bent, not tense with anticipation for his next draw, but with defeat. His fingers were loose around his bow, his eyes downward. Quiet agony.

He wasn’t ready.

“Hanzo, we have to fall back! Get back to the ship! Fareeha will protect your six as you leave.” No response. She watched as a bullet whizzed past his cover; he didn’t even flinch. Her stomach dropped as she watched an impulse cross his mind from all the way across the field.

Hanzo had only leaned a few centimeters past his cover when a biotic round struck him forcefully in the shoulder, his body jerking back instinctively.

“Hanzo! Run!” Ana shouted—when was the last time she’d truly shouted? _“Run for Jesse!”_

Hanzo’s head jerked up as her last three words cut through the white noise that had swallowed him up.

Run for Jesse.

He didn’t hesitate.

Hanzo’s prosthetic legs pushed him onward as if they had minds of their own, his body dodging and weaving and climbing without conscious thought. He had only one thing on his mind, after all.

Run for Jesse. He could feel the heat of rocket explosions behind him, and the bite of bullets grazing his skin and of shards of glass, still dripping with biotic fluid as grenades shattered at the retreating agents’ feet, but it all felt as far away as the dark place on that rooftop felt now.

Run for Jesse.

He ran until he couldn’t run any longer—his hands and feet scrabbled in frustration at the rear wall of the cargo bay.

“Hanzo, hey!” Lucio said, “Calm down, we’re alright,” he soothed, a more relaxed song seeming to roll across the floor of the ship like fog. “We all made it, it’s okay. Keep it cool…”

The soft melody had its intended effect, and Hanzo’s struggles against the reality of a solid titanium and steel hull slowed and ended. His fingers trembled slightly as Hanzo sank to the cool floor, his knees clinking as metal met metal. Lucio knelt next to him, worry creasing his brow.

“You okay, Archer?” he asked, slowly tipping his head to the side, the weight of his dreadlocks giving the motion a certain momentum.

“Please…” Hanzo began after a moment, his shoulders trembling in spite of the stillness in the rest of his body, “…Do not call me that.” That had been Jesse’s name for him in the field—professional, but secretly affectionate.

‘You cannot possibly banish every name he ever called you into the dark, never to be uttered,’ a condescending voice muttered in his head, echoing out of the darkness.

He might not be able to banish them forever, but he could certainly try.

“Sorry, man,” Lucio murmured. “…Things must still be pretty rough for you, huh?”

“I failed,” Hanzo replied, answering a completely different question.

“Hey now, you did great.”

“I missed the agents on the roof. I did not even think to look there. I am a failure,” he murmured, only self-loathing coloring his words.

“Alright, enough of that noise,” Lucio frowned, waving as if to shoo gnats from his face. “None of us thought to check the roof—not even Ana, and you know what a genius she is in a fight. You’re not a failure.”

“I…I cannot do this,” Hanzo murmured, squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his fists in his lap. Not without Jesse. Never again without Jesse…how could he? He had opened himself up, rebuilt the armor and walls around his heart to fit two inside, and now he was left in a too-big space, too cold and empty and dark to function.

He’d ruined himself on the promise of Jesse being there.

* * *

 

 _“Eva? What happened to Mr. Pérez in Room 209?_ ”

 _“What do you mean? He should be in his room._ ”

 _“He’s not. He’s just gone._ ”


	2. Chapter 2

He was hesitating again.

Hanzo’s phone had rang three times that night, and he only answered the door when Ana had come to bring him a light supper rather than Genji.

She understood, after all. She had also lost her husband—and now her son, as well.

It wasn’t as if Hanzo wasn’t familiar with loss, of course. He’d lost everything, been made to lose some of those things most important to him…but knowing that _this_ pain was shared gave him some small comfort.

But now he was alone again, in a bed far too big for one man, convincing himself that the scent of Jesse wasn’t slowly fading, his fingers gently rubbing over the gold band on his finger. In the days that had followed the news, wearing it had been too painful. Now, _not_ wearing it was too much.

They had been lying right there, nestled happily in one another’s arms for their regular movie night when Jesse had whispered one simple question into his ear.

It was quiet, private, intimate…not the sort of proposal someone might have expected from McCree. But Hanzo knew better, knew how quietly affectionate his cowboy could be, knew that Jesse understood him better than anyone, even Genji. Hanzo would have hated the fanfare and brouhaha of a public proposal, and he had a strong feeling that McCree would have hated it as well. His most serious romantic gestures had always been like that, gently poured from one heart to another…

The memory of that night hurt so beautifully. It cut at him like shards of glass, but he couldn’t bear to let go. He would rather his wounds heal with broken crystal buried in his heart than heal over into emptiness again.

Hanzo turned his face into the pillow, inhaling deeply and summoning up the warm, spicy musk of his love, his broken smile hidden in the covers and the shadows of the room.

“I miss you, Jesse,” he whispered into the empty room, stroking the pillow as if McCree’s scruffy face were there, smiling back at him. He could almost imagine his warmth, the smoothness of his mechanical hand running up and down his back…

His phone rang again. Hanzo hesitated before rolling over, frowning at the unrecognized number on the display. It was the fourth mystery number that day. He frowned, reaching for the phone and, with only half a second’s hesitation, swiped to answer.

“This is a restricted line. How did you get this number?” he growled, his old facade easily sliding into place once again. There was silence, but he could hear the person on the other end breathing. Hanzo was about to hang up, when he heard the other person take a breath.

“Hanzo… Darlin’…”

Time stood still, his blood freezing in his veins. He felt paralyzed for a moment—blank. After a few disconnected moments, he sat bolt upright on the bed, his eyes wide, the ice turning to fire in his belly.

“Who is this?” he hissed, “What do you want? Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Darlin’, it’s me,” the voice on the other end said.

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” Hanzo spat, his throat closing up at that voice. _That voice_ … How was it possible? “I swear, I will find you and _end you.”_ There was a soft chuckle from the other end of the line, forcing tears from Hanzo’s eyes.

“Sure wish you’d hold off on that, sweetheart,” the man said on the other end, a perfect imitation of Jesse’s drawl. “Least the endin’ part.”

“Stop it!” Hanzo sobbed, _“Who are you?!”_

“I told you, it’s me, Jesse,” he said softly. “I’m sorry, baby. I had to lay low while I was in the hospital—”

_“Prove it,”_ Hanzo spat, “Prove it’s you, Jesse…p-prove it!”

There was silence on the other end of the line, before he heard a soft sigh.

“…You wore my ring as a necklace on missions, so it wouldn’t muss up yer grip. I asked you t’ marry me…damn, pert’ near a year ago now…” The voice paused, and Hanzo could hear the man on the other end struggling to speak as well. He cleared his throat before continuing, a soft tremble in his voice. “We were watchin’…Hidden Fortress, wasn’t it? When I asked you…”

Hanzo let out a sob, his body trembling violently. It was him, _it was him_ , it had to be…! Jesse was _alive_ , alive and on the run again…but alive.

“Okay, yer turn.”

“Wh-what?”

“You gotta prove yer Hanzo now.”

“This is my phone, you idiot,” Hanzo replied, a hint of broken laughter in his voice as the affectionate insult slipped out.

“Don’t mean someone else couldn’t be posin’ as you. Some bounty hunter tryin’a trick me…”

Hanzo hiccuped and smiled, curling up on the bed and cradling the phone close.

“…After I said yes…I-I asked you what made that moment so special…and you said that…saving something special for a special moment would have you waiting forever, but…we could make any ordinary moment special.”

“That’s right, baby,” McCree murmured into the phone, sniffling. He could tell his words were being lost among Hanzo’s sobs. “Soon as I said it, I knew it was pretty sappy…”

“J-Jesse…!” Hanzo gasped, “Please, don’t let this be a dream…p-please…”

“I’m thinkin’ the same thing, darlin’…” McCree whispered. “I gotta go.”

“No! No, Jesse, don’t hang up!” Hanzo begged, his red-rimmed eyes snapping open.

“I gotta go if’n I’m gonna stow away on this here train.”

“Please!” he gasped, panic rising in his voice. “Jesse, don’t go! Don’t leave me again! Jesse!”

“I ain’t leavin’, darlin’,” McCree soothed. “I’ll be back in your arms as soon as I can…jes’ gonna take me a little while without my arm…I gotta go. I love you, Hanzo.”

“No! Jesse! _Jesse!”_ Hanzo cried, the line going dead. He could feel his heart stop as he listened to the emptiness on the other end. “…Jesse…please,” he begged, his tears welling up again as he clung to his phone, his lifeline. McCree was alive on the other end of that line, and now it was dead, and the only thing he could do was continue to cling to his phone for dear life.

“Come back…” he whimpered at the phone.

* * *

_“Hanzo…_ _I, i-it’s Jesse. I am s_ _o, so sorry, baby…I love you. I love you and I miss you so much, darlin’. I’m comin’ home, I promise.”_

Hanzo had always saved a few of McCree’s sillier voice mails and had listened to them regularly since receiving the news, but he kept listening to the three newest ones again and again. All from the same day. All from that week.

_“Hanzo, it’s me again. Please, baby, pick up the phone, I need to hear your voice. I have so much to tell you… Uh, I’m in Lima right now—gotta catch a cargo flight t’ Miami. I’ll try you again when I’ve found a freighter t’ Europe. Pro’ly Amsterdam. I love you, darlin’.”_

It had been a few days since he had answered McCree’s call, and he’d been almost paralyzed from that moment on. His stomach gnawed with both hunger and worry as he found himself in anxious limbo; Jesse was both alive and dead until he was back in Hanzo’s arms, and if he closed his eyes, or stopped listening to his voice, or broke the tense silence of their room then Jesse would collapse into one of those states and it would be _his fault_ if he was dead now…

_“Darlin’, it’s me. I’ve found a cargo flight, but I’m probably gonna have t’ lay low when I get into Europe. …I’m so tired, baby…gettin’ too old fer this. All of this… What say you an’ me go find ourselves a nice little house and live the quiet life? Have us a little family? I…I think you’d make a great Daddy… I-I gotta go. I love you so much.”_

Hanzo bit his lip and curled up tighter, replaying the last message with trembling fingers. A family…Jesse had never mentioned it before. This must have been just one brush with death too many for him. And even though he hadn’t imagined children in his future for many, many years, it sounded perfect with Jesse at his side. Hanzo wasn’t certain about his own ability, but Jesse would be a wonderful father.

He just had to come back to him.

“Hanzo? Habibi, if you’re alright, say something,” Ana called from the other side of the door, her quick knock suggesting she was carrying something.

Hanzo considered her words—it wasn’t hesitation. Ana had quite a firm stance on hesitation.

“…I’m fine,” he croaked, his gaze falling back to the phone in his hand.

“Would you like some tea? Falafel? Someone to sit with?” she called.

Hanzo looked down at his phone, Jesse’s voice quietly filtering out of the earpiece. _I’m so tired, baby… gettin’ too old fer this…_ His lip trembled, and he paused the message. He swung his legs to the edge of the bed and slid them back into his prosthetics, feeling suddenly flowing down past his knees. His metal feet were whisper quiet even against the hard floor, and Ana’s head swung around with surprise when the door finally slid open without the warning of footfall.

“Thank you, Ana,” Hanzo said softly, reaching for the tea tray she was holding.

“Is there anything you need?” she asked after a moment.

“…Not right now,” he replied.

“Have you washed up today?” Ana asked, unable to keep herself from mothering.

“Not yet,” he sighed. Ana reached out to take the tea tray back.

“Go take a shower. I’ll make sure there is hot tea waiting for you,” she smiled, turning and marching back to the kitchen.

“…Yes, ma’am,” Hanzo smiled weakly, turning and padding for the bathroom. He hadn’t said as much out loud, but he was grateful for her pestering him to at least eat and wash if he wasn’t going to come out.

Eat for Jesse, she would say when he refused. Wash for Jesse. Live for Jesse.

Living for Jesse was so much easier now, knowing he was coming home—even if he was still the only one who knew he was coming home.

He _was_ coming home, he thought as his fingers rubbed gently over the band on his finger with a little smile. Sooner or later…he was coming home.


	3. Chapter 3

If Jesse had wanted fanfare and a big hullabaloo, he could have had it. All he’d have to do is stroll into the base right around 5:45, when everyone was starting to gather up for supper and take a big ol’ bow.

But he was tired. Dog tired. He wanted nothing more than to lie down in Hanzo’s arms and sleep for a week—sleep knowing he could wake any time he wanted.

His back ached and his feet throbbed as he dropped onto a stool in a local pub, swiping the phone of a fellow patron as they unwisely left it on the bar as they hurried off to the bathroom.

‘meet me @ pub now, no reply’ he texted quickly before deleting the message history and returning it to its rightful place on the bar. He reached into his pocket and fished for his lighter and cigar case, frowning as he found only one of his box-pressed cigars inside the case—gifts from Ana back when he got his first prosthesis, saved for special occasions.

Well, he supposed coming back to life was a special occasion.

McCree gently coaxed the cigar to life, savoring the thick, slightly sweet flavor of the tobacco. Ana didn’t smoke much herself, he’d only ever seen her take a few social pulls from a hookah when on leave back in Cairo, but she could definitely pick a good cigar. He sighed out a cloud of smoke and carefully balanced both the cigar and his glass of bourbon in one hand. It had been months since he’d been able to indulge in either of his favorite vices—it was better for him that way, he knew, but they were the flavors of home.

Only one thing meant ‘home’ more to him, and he intended to savor him just as much as he was his cigar and his fine whiskey.

His second glass hit him a little harder than he was used to--four months dry and an empty stomach would do that, he supposed. But a single voice sliced through the haze.

“Jesse…!”

He barely had enough restraint to drop his cigar in the ashtray before standing, the soreness in his body a distant memory at the sound of that voice. He spun on his heel, his serape swinging freely through the space where his arm would have been.

Hanzo’s proud cheeks were a little more hollow than how Jesse had dreamed, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept through the night for weeks. For as tattered at the edges as he looked, he was still the most beautiful thing Jesse had laid eyes on. The barely restrained tears, the tremble in his hands, the bob in his throat as their eyes met for the first time in months—in an eternity…

“Hanzo,” Jesse breathed, stumbling forward a few paces before being swept up in Hanzo’s arms, his crushing grasp nearly squeezing the life out of him in the best of ways. His arms wound around Hanzo in return, his stump nestled into the space below Hanzo’s arm, cradling him close. His lack had never felt more right. “Hanzo…! _Hanzo,”_ he gasped.

“Jesse,” Hanzo whispered in reply, clutching the cowboy tightly, burying his fingers in thick chestnut hair, a little longer than he remembered, his body thinner than he recalled, but it mattered very little at that moment. No matter what was extra or what was missing, it was his Jesse.

“…You’re back,” he said, his voice choked with tears. “It’s you…it’s really you…!”

“And it’s you,” McCree whispered, hiding his tear-filled grin in Hanzo’s shoulder. “I ain’t dreamin’, right? It’s you…I’m home…” he said, his voice trembling.

“Yes…yes!” Hanzo laughed, unwilling to let him go for even a moment, taking a deep breath and relishing the scent of Jesse, in spite of it being a little strong for want of soap and a hot shower. “Welcome home, love…”

* * *

 

Hanzo and Jesse sat together on the floor of their quarters, a sad sort of frown on McCree’s face.

“Seems an awful shame is all,” McCree murmured, the fingers of his temporary prosthesis running across the heavy silk of a black kimono. “I mean, we had such great plans for it.”

“I buried you. I buried you while wearing this,” Hanzo stated, his tone halting as he held back the memory of that day. It was easier, having Jesse sitting across from him, but easier in the way that climbing a mountain in summer is easier than in winter.

“I know…I’m sorry, baby,” McCree said, reaching out and running a hand down Hanzo’s arm. “Jes’ don’t think we gotta burn it, is all,” he added, looking down at the bottle of lighter fluid Hanzo had swiped from Morrison’s grill supplies.

“I want to,” Hanzo replied firmly. “It has so much ill feeling inside it, I can barely stand to look at it,” he said, glaring down at the silk.

“…Okay,” McCree nodded, sighing as he pushed himself up off the floor, the servos in his bare-bones arm whirring loudly. “I’ll carry it,” he added, scooping up the surprisingly heavy pile of black and white silks.

McCree had been back for several days, and the celebratory air hadn’t yet left the Watchpoint. Just hearing the sound of his spurs jingle was enough to draw attention, heads poking out of rooms with relieved smiles on their lips. It was like when Ana came back. With how often it seemed to happen among their ranks, one would think this resurrection trick would lose its luster. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to pull it off again.

He refused to allow the thought of Hanzo in that position into his mind.

“We wanna throw these in a trashcan first, or what?” McCree asked as they strode out into the late afternoon sun, the gentle crash of waves far below.

“Whatever you think is best,” Hanzo replied, taking a deep breath of Mediterranean air and looking back at McCree with a little smirk. “I will be glad to see it go either way.”

McCree shrugged, checking to see if any of the cargo containers that had been cleared out of the living spaces and left haphazardly in front of the doors were empty. “Ah, here we go,” he grinned, dumping the armload of fabric into an empty container, fishing out a cotton koshihimo with one hand and his trusty lighter with the other. “Y’wanna do the honors?”

“Please,” Hanzo grinned, holding his hand out for the lighter. He couldn’t help but think about how much like a fuse the little white strip looked. He started squirting lighter fluid down its length before running back and forth across the pile of fabric as if he were decorating the top of okonomiyaki. Back and forth, pouring a lattice over the kuromontsuki, soaking into the striped hakama, smirking as the tufts of the haori himo drooped and matted in the presence of moisture.

“Y’ain’t gonna make me burn my tux, are ya?” McCree asked, letting out a nervous chuckle at the amount of lighter fluid Hanzo was using.

“You still have not worn it, it’s fine,” Hanzo replied, flicking the spout back down on the bottle and nudging it away with his foot before turning back to the container, taking a deep breath. “Shall we?”

“It’s yer bonfire,” McCree said, taking a step back. Hanzo looked down at the lighter for a moment before striking it, carefully holding the end of the koshihimo and jumping slightly at how quickly it lit. He dropped the cloth and backed up into McCree’s chest, letting out a breathy laugh as the fire caught, flinching back at the sudden burst of heat.

“ _Sayo_ _u_ _nara,”_ he laughed, his eyes glistening as he watched the flames swallow up the pain, the sorrow, the tears he’d cried into those black sleeves. McCree’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and he held on fast, pressing his cheek against Jesse’s jaw and laughing softly. “Welcome home, Jesse,” he murmured.

He would never grow tired of saying that.

They watched the fire devour the kimono, the silk resisting the flames as best it could but eventually relenting, occasionally flaring back up as a patch of lighter fluid was hit. Hanzo would peek inside periodically and poke at the embers before returning to McCree’s arms, relaxing more and more each time as the smoke carried away the sorrowful weight from his shoulders.

“Ready to head back inside?” McCree asked as the smoke died away.

“Yes,” Hanzo sighed, a peaceful smile on his lips.

“So…we both gonna wear tuxes when we finally tie the knot?” McCree asked, smiling as he guided Hanzo back toward the doors into the Watchpoint.

“Oh no…I have something better,” Hanzo chuckled, “Wait until you see it…”

* * *

The kuromontsuki might have been traditional, but it was far too sober for McCree’s taste.

This was much better.

Hanzo looked radiant in his new kimono, the royal blue rinzu silk of his haori bearing large golden Shimada kamon on his shoulders. His dragon-patterned embroidered hakama were much more lively, as well, starting deep blue at the hem and fading into a warm sunny yellow at his waist, the iromontsuki he wore beneath the same gold as a ginkgo tree in November. The collar was thick with embroidery—white thread on white cloth, invisible from any appreciable distance.

“Damn, baby, if I’d’ve known this was an option, I’d never’ve let you buy that black one in the first place,” McCree grinned, his thumb hooked into the button hole of his tuxedo jacket. His new arm was almost completely silent in its motion, and his wedding band was already welded onto his ring finger. Why wait until after the ceremony to get his arm modified?

“It is not for weddings,” Hanzo laughed, looking down at his ensemble without much concern for that fact. “I wore something like this for Seijin-no-Hi. It’s…rather more joyous.”

“I’ll say,” McCree chuckled, the sound rolling from deep in his chest and taking a few steps closer. “I love it. ‘Joyous’ looks good on you, babe.” Hanzo smiled and looked away shyly before leaning into McCree’s broad frame for a moment, sighing.

“Everyone is waiting for us,” he said, “We should hurry.”

“It ain’t like we can be late to our own wedding,” McCree chuckled, slipping his arms around Hanzo’s waist, “It can’t start without us.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, Cowboy,” Hanzo smirked, reaching back and grasping his wrists to keep Jesse from reaching any farther south. “Have patience,” he purred, “I assure you, what I have planned for tonight is far superior to anything which could make us late.”

“Well butter my ass an’ call me a biscuit,” Jesse grinned, pulling away, “Let’s get a move on.”

“Jesse, wait…”

McCree paused and turned, still grinning at the prospect of what awaited him that evening. “Yeah?”

“…I…I feared this day would never come,” Hanzo said, his voice growing soft as he gave McCree a sincere smile—the sort that he granted only to Jesse. “Now that it is here, I hardly know what to do with myself. I…thank you.”

“Funny thing t’ say,” McCree smiled, reaching up to cup Hanzo’s cheek.

“Not at all,” Hanzo smiled, tipping his cheek into Jesse’s gentle touch. “Without you, I am lost. I _was_ lost…and now that you’re here, I want nothing more than to tie myself to you and never part from you again.”

McCree chuckled and leaned down, kissing him gently. “Those are some mighty fine sentiments, darlin’. Let’s save at least a few for when we’re exchangin’ vows,” he added, smiling as he lead Hanzo into the hall. “Ready?”

Hanzo smiled, slipping his hand into McCree’s and threading his fingers between Jesse’s, facing down the hall. ‘Do it for Jesse.’

“Ready.”


End file.
